Questions For A Research Paper
Submitted by Yoda Patta (1997)
In one of your writing lessons, you stated that "I can tell you right
now, this story is dead in the water because of this most common and most awful
of openings. This is the standard "she drove through the snow, tears flowing
down her cheeks, thinking through the events of the past few days" opening that
wrecks story after story." This really was a wake up call for me, because I had
always perceived this to be the PERFECT beginning. My question is, is this an
"always" case, or can this sort of thing be used in an effective and "live" manner
as opposed to dull, common and dead? If yes, how?
As with all rules, there are exceptions. But with this particular rule,
the exceptions are rare and I would urge writers who are attracted to this
structure to simply avoid it. Actually, this grew out of the old "in medias res"
principle derived from Greek tragedy. But Greek tragedy generally followed the
unities, and so any action that began before the day of the climax had to be
summarized. In fiction we are untroubled by the rigid rules of the unities
(though in fact we are still bound by them in that we must compensate for all
violations of unity of time, place, and theme -- but that's another topic), and
therefore are free to avoid the endless "rememberings" and flashbacks and other
expository devices that are required when you don't take the story in time order.
The rare exceptions come when the early events are not intrinsically interesting,
and so you must artificially introduce tension into them by opening with some
powerful event that will happen later, so that we know that the quotidian events
we're reading about now will lead to something important. But "Her hands
gripped the wheel as she drove through the snow, thinking about the events of
the past weeks" is NOT such a case -- it is the opposite. In THIS case, the
author is starting with a dull moment -- driving and thinking -- and then
"remembering" the interesting moments, thereby making them more distant and
filtered and dulled down by being summarized.
In other words, it's just not worth it. Avoid the in medias res opening unless
you can think of no other way.
What is your perception of a human being's duty to his or her:
. . . and to what extent?
- A) God?
- B) Religion?
- C) Family?
- D) Country?
- E) Political or religious leaders?
To what extent is a human being a part of a larger group, and to
what extent is he or she a free and separate individual?
2 & 3 are really the same question, which is, in my terminology:
What is the balance between the need for community and the need for liberty?
In America right now, we treat the need for individual liberty as an absolute --
but of course it is not, and when we weaken the duties the individual owes the
community, we weaken the community; and, ironically, it is only from
community that we GAIN our identity and, in the end, our liberty.
This is why: All primates need a community in order to have a breeding pool
and to share the burden of child-rearing. In baboons and chimps and gorillas,
these practical needs are obvious because they are not clouded by verbiage
designed to hide our motives from ourselves. The trouble is, alpha males tend to
monopolize the females, giving far fewer males the opportunity to breed (except
by kidnapping and rape, as chimpanzee life shows). Baboons, who are arguably
the most communitarian of the primates (and, not just coincidentally, the most
successful primate besides human beings, since they are found in far more
habitats and far greater numbers than any of the great apes), have found another
way. Alpha male behavior -- displaying, fighting, intimidating others -- is
counterproductive in baboon society, because males who have not befriended
babies and therefore their mothers are ganged-up on when they try to assert
themselves with an unwilling female. The community acts as a group to restrain
alpha male behavior. And at the heart of this is the protection of the female
and her family from the predatory male.
That's how we humans work, too -- when our communities work at all. We
define flagrant alpha male behavior as criminal or low-class, and through
physical restraint (police; vigilantism) or social restraint (shunning; firing;
sneering; mocking) those who do not keep those tendencies in check are
effectively cut off from reproductive opportunities and from positions of respect
in the society. Only compliant males and females may rise to positions of
leadership and respect. (Which is why the "forgiveness" of unrestrained-alpha-male Bill Clinton without removing him from office was such a devastatingly
anti-communitarian, uncivilized thing to do.)
Besides handling the problems of alpha maleness, communities are able to
provide other vital services: Public memory, so that we can learn verbally from
previous generations and don't have to keep reinventing the wheel; division of
labor, so that only a portion of the community has to spend its time on
subsistence, freeing some and eventually all to have large blocks of time for
amusement and other pursuits; public defense, so that communities may survive
the onslaughts of predatory rival communities; and public works, so that projects
that benefit all can be accomplished together (which is what taxes are all about).
Many things we take for granted exist ONLY because the community enforces
strict rules that allow them to exist. For instance: Property, so that what
belongs to you continues to belong to you even if you walk away from it for a
while. Family, so that you don't have to constantly watch to keep someone from
kidnapping your mate and/or your children. Money, a fictional item that has
value only because everyone agrees to pretend that it does (and in hyperinflation,
it is devastating when people stop agreeing!). Honor for any trait other than
ruthless use of physical force, for it is only in the context of community that
intellectual or artistic or even athletic prowess have value.
In exchange for all these values (and many more), we agree to abide by various
rules, all of which intrude on our personal liberty. We agree not to take things
that belong to other people. We agree not to rape or kill or even injure others
physically. We agree to take money and give people things in exchange for it,
even though the money of itself has no use or value. We agree to respect those
that the community deems respectable, even if we think the community is
wrong. We agree to stop at red lights and stop signs. We agree to pay large
portions of our income as taxes to support the division of labor and the creation
of public works. In short, we give up enormous reaches of our personal liberty.
The reason most of these rules don't feel terribly oppressive, even when they are
(for instance, we agree to letting Bill Gates's money have, dollar for dollar, the
same purchasing power as the dollars of a pensioner, even though there is no way
that his contribution to the community is even remotely worth the money he
has), is because everyone agrees to the rules so universally that it does not occur
to us that it could be otherwise; or, when there is disagreement, we see the
obvious value of abiding by the rules and insisting that others do likewise ( we
recognize that unless we respect Bill Gates's dollars, our own will not have
The only times we feel the community rules as violations of our personal liberty
- When the rule does not work (i.e., hyperinflation; or when tax collectors
demand cash in a time when there is no cash; etc.)
- When the rule is new or newly extended, or given outrageous new penalties.
- When prestigious persons tell us (and we believe them) that we ought to have
the right to do things that the rules forbid AND we already have a natural
inclination to do those things.
It is the third case -- the storytelling function -- where writers are actually more
powerful than politicians. America's move toward the abolition of rules of
sexual behavior began with writers (or poets, or lyricists) who repeatedly told
stories which were much admired in which the rules were either flouted or
denigrated. Joyce and Lawrence broke rules; "Philadelphia Story" and the songs
of Cole Porter ridiculed them. Fiction writers like Freud and Jung, masking their
mythmaking as science, though of course it was actually more like the
pronouncements of prophets, thereby claimed more authority for their
pronouncements that sexual behavior rules somehow led to the great evil of
"repression" (though no one has yet been able to show how anyone is harmed by
"repressing" their sexual desires and confining them to socially appropriate
That claim of authority by Freud and Jung is, in fact, right at the heart of the
matter of God in the community. Setting aside the issue of whether God
actually exists and actually gives commandments (though I believe he does both),
within human communities the claim of divine authority for laws that are very
hard to obey -- like laws concerning sexual behavior -- gives them greater
authority to control behavior even when no one else can see. The claim that
God had died was actually an effort -- a successful one -- to remove the
authority of God as the supporter of rules of sexual behavior (though he is
conveniently invoked by the very same people in support of rules they do like).
Science now serves, in our society, the God-function: Science is invoked,
usually by false prophets (i.e., people who are not scientists or whose statements
do not arise from scientific process), in support of every rule that these people
want to enforce, and against every rule they want to tear down.
All of this functions according to natural laws. When the members of a
community cease to support it by their obedience, the community ceases to exist.
Puritanism is thus always self-defeating in the end, because a too-rigid insistence
on onerous, mindless, or counter-productive rules always results in either revolt
or dissolution or evaporation of a community. But at the same time,
assimilationism and/or libertarianism are also ultimately fatal to a community,
because when a community 'adapts' its rules to coincide with those of a
neighboring or surrounding community (i.e., when Catholics erase the
differences between them and the surrounding protestants or atheists), then there
is no further reason to claim membership in that community; or when a
community throws out rules that are necessary for survival (and rules regulating
sexual behavior are vital to the survival of communities that pretend to the
power of life and death, like nations and churches), then members of the
community, facing the chaos, uncertainty, unhappiness, or suffering that result,
either institute even tighter rules than before OR leave the community en masse
to seek a community where the rules are maintained.
Which brings us to the inertia of identity. Our identity as human beings exists
only in the context of community. We are nobody till somebody knows us, and
the way they know us is by defining us in communitarian terms. Democrat (or
not-Democrat), Catholic (or Jew or Muslim or atheist), doctor (or ditchdigger or
...) ... you get the picture. Even individual traits take on the whole baggage of
community stories concerning the group defined by those traits (you know how
redheads are; I wouldn't trust a man who dips his bread in olive oil instead of
using honest margarine; that haircut and that clothing are a guarantee that that
kid has no intention of working hard on his job). Our identity is the net sum of
the communities we belong to plus the communities we vehemently don't
belong to (i.e., I'm a non-smoker, a non-drinker, and a confirmed non-Lexus-driver). Even though our individuality runs deeper than this, in fact this is
almost all that most people ever know about us. It IS our identity.
So when a community fails us, it is a wrenching process to change identities --
and often we become quite angry and spiteful toward the community that we
have quit. No one hates smoking like a former smoker; no one sermonizes
against adultery like an adulterer who knows the horrible results of what he has
What does an individual owe to God, church, state, or all the other communities
and sources of community authority? Exactly as much as the individual believes
he owes. But the less he believes he owes, the less power that community has
over him (except when it uses brute force); and a community that loses the
obedience of its members simply does not exist. (Where is the Know-nothing
party? Where are the Puritan ministers?)
When you read Elaine Radford's accusations of you placing Hitler
as Ender, were you personally offended (I definitely would be) by her
"insolence"? How do you draw the line between professionalism and personal
matters in what you do?
I was not so much offended as annoyed at the prospect of reading
endless references to her stupid, logic-free, and mean-spirited personal attack on
me -- references, in fact, like your own. Radford's reading of Ender's Game was
absurd, but because she wrote it, I still have to answer questions about it. It
didn't hurt my feelings, because no intelligent person who has actually read
Ender's Game can give it a moment's credence. But it wastes my time and
smears my reputation.
How do you feel about your fans writing "fanfiction" using
characters that are already established by you (e.g, Ender, Valetine, etc.)?
I'm flattered; and then, if they try to publish it (including on the net)
except in very restricted circumstances, I will sue, because if I do NOT act
vigorously to protect my copyright, I will lose that copyright -- and that is the
only inheritance I have to leave my family. So fan fiction, while flattering, is
also an attack on my means of livelihood. It is also a poor substitute for the
writers' inventing their own characters and situations. It does not help them as
writers; it can easily harm me; and those who care about my stories and
characters know that what I write is "real" and has authority, and what fans
write is not and does not. So it's all pointless. I'd prefer simply to ignore it
when it happens, but the way copyright law functions, I am told that I cannot
ignore it. So there it is.
Do you believe in the goodness of humankind (as opposed to, say,
Thomas Hobbes' view that all humans are evil)? Do you believe that we all have
a certain level of evil inside of us? If so, how do you view the difference(s)
between those who are "good" and those who are "bad?"
In my experience, every person has every motivation. And this life is
about figuring out which kinds of motivations a person will choose to follow.
Those of us who do not steal are not honest because we've never thought of
taking things that don't belong to us. We've simply chosen not to act on those
desires. Every human being has an animal nature that yearns for pleasure; every
human being has a spiritual nature that yearns for the love of God; every human
being has pride that yearns for respect; every human being has a need to belong
to something larger than himself. Which needs will predominate? It is that set
of choices that defines our moral nature. If we were all by nature evil, there
would be no goodness in the world; if we were all by nature good, there would be
no evil. Obviously, then, you cannot make a truthful statement that says ALL
humans are by nature either good OR evil.